These Scars of Mine
by Scarlence
Summary: Tiny words hit the hardest, and it's up to his warmth to bring her back from her depths of frigid ice. DirkxGretel One-shot


**"How confused you must be, finding love in the blood that you bleed.**

**But the truth is that I see why you say that its hard to be me.**

**And we all make mistakes; it's not you but this world you should hate.**

**Your as beautiful as you were yesterday."**

**"Scars" by SayWeCanFly**

* * *

It's cold... Frozen, frosted outside, and here I am in the cold of this house. However, the temperature lies no where near freezing. It's just me... I'm so cold.

My heart feels like ice. I'm never good enough. Everywhere I go, I'm not good enough! I tense, the tears on my cheeks singeing the skin; why am I crying? I'm not good enough for tears, or even such a thing as pity.

Put on a smile, put on a show, Gretel. That's what I've always done. He told me to never let anyone know this torture I feel. When people wonder if I've eaten or slept, I just tell them, "Yes."

My eyes glance upon the arms that I bear, those criss-crossed slits across my wrists, up my arms. There - I'm weeping again! The scars never leave! I always open them again. I can't help it. It's my disease. Here I sit in bed, my robe tied around my waist, stains of blood across the sleeves that won't wash out. Somehow now I can't even find the motivation to get dressed. I look to the nightstand. That pocket knife... I want it so badly, and so I'm crying again, more tears that shouldn't be.

My thoughts are so wrong. _Goddess, save me_, I call in my mind, o_r let me die today. _I grab a hold of the knife and open it shamefully._  
_

_"There's something wrong with you."_

Those words have tenderized my heart. They aren't even the bad ones, but never did those hurt me anymore. It it always those which seem the most benign that strike me the hardest.

_"Why don't you ever talk to anyone?"_

_"You're so sad and alone."_

_"You're okay, it's just a phase. Get over it."_

I gasp on a sob, clutching the knife over my heart. It hurts so much to cut, but it hurts so much more to just manage. I don't even feel the silvery blade as it traces the previously drawn line; I'm too numb from the pain in my mind.

_"You deserve the pain."_

I deserve the pain anyway.

_Rap, rap, tap _on the door. I slowly solidify, my joints locking in place. My mind goes further numb, the blood streaming in a perfect line down my arm. I didn't care anymore when it got on my stuff - it reminded me of what I was.

"Gret? Hello? I'm coming in," he voices loudly through the door. This is not the same 'he'. This one is warm and deserving. His voice sounds hopeful all the time, always cheery and always uplifting in a way.

I've thought on so many times the irony of the person's name. He's a knife, a blade for cutting flesh, but at the same time he's a wonderful person, so unlike me. I try to flip away the knife, but it won't move.

The door creaks ajar, and in pops his face into my room. He's smiling.

"There you are! Never thought you'd come out back. Hey - are you okay?"

He hasn't seen my scars, the knife or anything. It is purely due to the puffiness of my eyes and the droplets down my cheeks that he's found himself startled. I furiously wipe them away, claiming with a light, believable laugh, "Yes, I'm fine, and I just... 've been thinking about family."

My lies are growing increasingly more confident by the second, it seems. . Here I am, almost ready to head into my barn, tie up a noose and be gone forever with a facade of happiness covering me.

"I know how that feels," he reminds. He'd lost his parents young, and ever since his brother Ivan had raised him. "You just wanna give up everything to go see them, huh?"

"Yea," I reply with I sniffle.

Goddess, my arms, my knife, the blood stains - he will know if he comes closer. And he tries to, to casually come up beside me and comfort me.

"Stop!" I almost shout. "I-I..." I can't figure out a lie this time. I just want him to stay back!

I suddenly cringe, pain shooting through my leg. I'd dropped the knife and shifted right onto it with the back of my left thigh. It isn't deep - I can feel that - but the start is enough to make me jump.

"Gret?" he wonders, rushing for me. He ignores my plea and...

"Gret?" he whispers, astonished.

If only the blade hadn't been digging into my leg, I could've reached for my blanket and covered myself. However, that would've been to no avail as well - it too, was stained in drops of blood.

He sees them as he catches a hold of my arms at the wrists. The scars, my hurt, the sheer amount of scars! Those that had not healed over from the last time - two days ago - because I'd cut so deep and my bleeding wound. He sees my self-hatred, my sadness, my fears, and my pain. I can't hold back the tears now - they are impossible, and the floodgate of my self-control doesn't exist.

There it is. The attempt to comfort me. His arms seem to automatically wrap around me. This embrace is different from all the rest by just one reason - how tight it is. He pulls me into his chest and lets me cry there, in a place protected from the judgement of the world. I cling to his shirt, balling the fabric in my puny fists.

"Why?" he asks solemnly, a tiny whisper of what his voice had been not a minute ago.

"I'm nothing," I cry, trying to barricade my words with my hand. They did not yield the shelter.

"You're not," he sounds, strained. "You're such a beautiful person."

I push him away, sniffling. "That's hard to believe when all I've been told is the opposite."

"It's not you but this world you should hate," he says somewhat forcefully.

I bite my lip, cringing against the bitter tears flooding down my cheeks. He steps up to me and holds me by the elbows - one of which is now painted in smudged blood. He fails to heed the blood whatsoever. He acts as if it isn't there, like everyone does. This just makes me wish to pull away further.

"It's not you. Everything anyone has ever said that's even remotely against you is wrong! I'm sure you haven't met anyone here in Zephyr who's made you feel like this."

"The pain still exists!" I fight, severing his grip once again with a sudden swing of my arms. He comes behind me now and clasps my entire body within his arms and behind my ear, he whispers:

"You're not alone, Gret."

"How? How could anyone know what I'm feeling? No one understands!" I fume, my voice impossible to control. I struggle to relieve myself of his grip, but he holds fast.

"Just tell me. I'll always be here."

Always. He says that like he loves me, but I know that even people you love are a bliss of evanescence.

"You'll just leave."

Everyone who has tried to help me left my in the dust of their trail. I'm a lost cause and I can't be holding up the life of another. We're in a desert, but my head's lost in the arctic.

"I won't," he promises.

"B-but I'm a lost cause, Dirk."

He clasped my hands in his, keeping them within his intertwined fingers. He was warm. "Don't ever say that. You'll never be that to me."

I can't fight him anymore - I don't have the energy. My will is spent and I am eternally languished. I crumple, only his embrace sustaining my upright position.

He chuckles very softly in my ear, nuzzling my blond hair. "It's weird, you never know what anyone's hiding. Everybody's got their secret."

His levity seems absolutely impossible. But he retains it as helps clean the blood from my arm and thigh and takes the knife onto his person so that I can not handle it. He had set me down on my couch and there I sat lethargically, staring down at the scars and that single fresh cut.

"It's not you. I know you, Gret." he reassured me every other moment or so when he noticed me looking at my arms.

He comes next to me, and I dazedly stare into those brilliant jasper eyes of his. He is so genuine and spirited, I can't contain my jealousy. How can a person not let anything get to them like they had to me? His parents are gone completely from his life. My meager position without such a tragedy beating down on me is ignominious.

"Dirk," I say, my voice low and quiet.

"Yea?"

"What's your secret?"

It's quite quick what he does. He smirks that feline smirk of his and tenderly places a hand on my jawline. His lips meet mine for just what may have been a fraction of a second, however, it lasts undoubtedly an eternity longer than it seems. It is sweet and comforting. It triggers a tremble to fall down my spine. His face grows red in the cheeks as he looks at me contently, licking his lips. I'm bedazzled and shivering, but never have I felt warmer in a world so cold.

"Uh, actually... I'm going to let you guess that one. Just remember... I'm never going to let you hurt again."

* * *

**A/N:**

**TA-DA! Recently these Grand Bazaar fics have been popping up, and they never really did before, so I thought I'd join in.**

**Basically this was inspired by Dirk being one of the only mentionable characters in the game and the song "Scars" by SayWeCanFly. (I love this song so much!)**

**I don't know if I did well with portraying the feeling of this situation, but I tried my best. If you wouldn't mind, tell me how I did? I'd love the reviews so I can better my future stories. :)**


End file.
